


Aftermath

by anomalation



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Female Friendship, Found Family, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Team as Family, can you even imagine trying to text Jessica Jones though, post Punisher AU where Billy survived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 08:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13923096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalation/pseuds/anomalation
Summary: Karen spends too much time on men who don't reciprocate. A group text changes that.AKA the Karen-centric fic of my dreams, where she gets actual character development and friends who care about her first and has realistic standards.





	Aftermath

 

Billy's shoulder always cracks. 

When he stretches in the morning, or reaches for something up high. Sometimes he'll crack it on purpose, but sometimes he'll do it absentmindedly, when they're in the grocery store or in the shower or in the park. And Karen knows why that shoulder, the right one, bothers him sometimes. She's heard the story he tells, the romanticized version of what happened in his childhood that her instincts could see straight through. Her instincts told her there was more, and his hospital records did, too. 

Billy knows she's done background research on him. It's not a stretch, surely, for him to put together that she knows this, too. That what he remembers isn't what happened. But he always smiles when she catches him rolling his shoulder and popping it, like it's something charming, an inside joke, and not a constant reminder he'd desperately wish not to have. But Billy has a lot of those, reminders written on his body by other men. Karen tries not to think about it too much. It's just now, when she's sitting behind him, massaging his shoulders and feeling his muscles under her palms, she can't help but think about it. 

"Relaxed?" she asks him. 

"Very." He leans back against her, and he's sitting and she's kneeling, so she can put her chin on top of his head and hold him close, wrapping her arms over his shoulders. "Thank you." 

"Sure. How do you feel?" 

"I'm fine." She waits in silence for further explanation, and eventually it comes. He reaches up and closes his hand around her wrist, holding her there. "Mobility isn't what it used to be." 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Kinda, but. Frank was... babying me," he says. 

She's learned the lingo of their relationship too, and that's an insult. "He's just taking care of you," she tries to tell him. 

"I can take care of myself," he answers, quick, on instinct. Karen pulls away, and he turns around to look at her. His face healed better than anyone would've expected; he applied a cream religiously during the healing process, still does. The texture's the biggest giveaway, though; the lines are carved deep. "I don't want to need him," he says, eyes boring into her. She’ll always trouble reading them. 

Her life is full of people she needs; Matt and Foggy, and Claire and Frank. She checks in with them on most days she doesn’t see them, a general "hey, how are you, did you get mortally wounded recently" text that has become routine. She’s thought seriously about beginning a group text. It’s how people are wired, to need each other. 

"You'll get better at it," she says instead of anything better, and Billy gives her one of his shark smiles, empty and insincere. 

"I hope so." 

They sleep in the same bed, an old habit by now. She refused to sleep on the couch when she was paying the rent, and he conned his way in next to her with his numerous injuries. He's fine now, cuts healed and stitches removed, but she hasn't asked him to leave. Billy's impossible to sneak up on. They have matching guns under their pillows. 

Frank makes it back tonight. It's late when he finally comes in, pitch black out, and he never announces his presence. Just turns on the bathroom light and gets in the shower. Karen relaxes, lets go of the grip of her Glock and takes a deep breath. They're safe tonight. 

"One of these days," Billy says quietly, "he's gonna get shot, just walking in here." 

Not by Karen. She knows the sound of his steps like she knows her own pulse. Billy must know them just as well. She rolls over, closer to Billy, taking her pillow and gun with her. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there," she says. 

That's good enough. Billy snorts, lets her tug his hand out from under him and hold it in both of hers. And Frank's out in a few minutes, clean pajamas on. He flops down on Karen's free side, puts his arm over her, and falls asleep. 

Karen listens to both of the boys breathing in unison, holds Billy's hand, and tries for the millionth time to discern exactly what she is to them. Mascot or conscience or surrogate mother. 

 

 

Billy walks her to work. Another habit they fell into months ago, when he needed exercise and they thought she needed protection. He kisses her cheek at the door, like he has ever since the one time somebody asked Karen if they were dating and Billy leaned in, natural as anything. "Are we?" he'd asked. It echoes in her head today, as he presses his lips against her cheek. 

"What are you doing today?" she asks, lingering there with him. 

"Dunno. Why?" He looks warm right now, like maybe he hasn't woken up all the way yet. There's a gun in her purse, and one in a shoulder holster under his jacket. 

"I could use you," she says, and only when his mouth takes on a strange twist does she realize how it sounds. "Ellis has me on a piece about the impacts of the Event," she adds quickly. "I have to talk to families, and guys respond better to other guys." 

"Do they," he echoes faintly. 

"Yeah. Ellis usually comes, but he's home sick." They had to push him out the door when he came in yesterday. Fever over a hundred and he was trying to power through it, crazy bastard. "You can say no, it was just a thought." 

Billy examines her, wary for any sign of pity or pandering. "Okay," he says. "Though I doubt you need me." 

She doesn't. She could handle it just fine. But she doesn't think that would play well, as an answer. "Two heads, y'know," she shrugs. 

"Sure," he says, back to his veneer of good humor. And he heads inside after her, holding the door open for the lady behind them. 

He hasn't been in her office before; he looks around while she drops her laptop off and searches for the right notepad. She's vaguely aware of what he's looking at; the framed clippings and piles of back issues. "This is a mess," he declares it. 

“I’m too busy to clean," she snaps back, a little too defensive. 

Billy doesn't answer, but when she looks up, he's straightened a stack of newspapers into a neat rectangular stack. "Is there a system?" he asks, looking back at her. 

"No," she says with half a shrug. "By story, I guess." 

He nods, continues straightening while she's packing her purse, and when she leaves, her office is a mess with two neat piles in the middle. 

The subway's a different experience with Billy at her back, shielding her from the other standing passengers. Nobody's looking at her, or grabbing her ass. Karen leans into him on a turn, and stays there. 

“So what’s your angle?” he says, as they climb the steps back into the light. “On the Event. A human interest piece?” 

“Everyone’s interviewing the people who are glad the Avengers exist,” she says. “Nobody’s talking to the people who’ve been hurt. That’s the angle.” 

“You have a thing for the forgotten?” Billy says doubtfully. 

“You’re lucky I do,” she says. “Or we wouldn’t be here.” 

She remembers the night Frank came back with him, so bloodied she almost didn't recognize either of them. Definitely didn't recognize Billy as the smug, smooth man from the day Frank tried to save that senator. That came later, as she put together the pieces. As Billy’s cheek and gut, stitched shut by Claire, began to heal and he started to talk a little more. She knew the voice, even if the face was a mess of blood and bruises. 

He guides her around a trashcan with a hand on her back, and then tucks it back into his pocket when she’s clear. “In your own head?” he says pleasantly. 

As if he’s one to talk. “Thanks,” she says. “We’re almost there.” 

She didn’t think about who they’d be talking to. She didn’t consider that Billy would be looking at kids, kids with his dark eyes and distrust, whose parents were killed by the destruction and are stuck in the system that made him. He does a serviceable job, getting people to talk when Karen can’t, but then on the subway back, he’s absolutely silent. 

“Billy,” she says softly. He glances up at her, flashes a fake smile. “Come on.” 

“Back to the office?” he says. 

“Yeah, if that’s okay.” 

He nods once. “Okay.” 

So he doesn’t want to talk. That’s fine. Karen can do that too; she’s made a fucking life of it with Frank, and Matt. Not talking about whatever they want to avoid, with their emotional constipation and secrets. What’s one more?

One more’s the straw that breaks her back, turns out. They head back to her office, and she makes it a whole three seconds in there before she turns back to him. “Billy.” 

“Karen,” he says very seriously, smile tugging at his mouth. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything. From your past.”

“You didn’t,” he lies smoothly, but she knows his twitches by now, she knows what crossed arms mean. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I didn’t know Ellis set those up.” 

He clenches his jaw, releases it deliberately. “You wanted to see me sweat?” he says. 

“No. I didn’t, I’m sorry.” 

“Stop saying that,” he says irritably, but when she hugs him he doesn’t protest. Far from that, actually. He holds her back, tight, tucks his face against her shoulder for a second. “Okay,” he says. 

“Okay?” 

“Okay. Point made.” 

Karen hugs him a little tighter. “I’m not trying to…” 

“To?” he prompts her. 

“To get one up on you. Or like, win.” She can’t believe she has to say that. She pulls back to look him in the eyes, to see if he believes her. Seems like he does, but she isn’t sure. 

He nods once. “I’m okay,” he says. “What do we do now?” 

Karen takes off her coat and drops it over the back of the chair “I transcribe these notes and include my thoughts while they’re fresh. Try to meet my copy deadlines. You can go, this is probably super boring.” 

“Can I clean up your office?” he says. 

Him asking feels like submission. Maybe an apology. She shrugs. “Go nuts. I’ll be out of here pretty soon.” 

Three hours in, he leaves without a word and comes back with coffee and pizza from the bodega down the street. She finally looks up from her computer at the smell of food, and realizes her entire office has been organized into neat stacks. She peels a Post-it off the nearest one, tips her head to look at it. _sob stories_. She smiles at him. 

“You’re editorializing my research,” she says. 

“I added some flavor,” he grins, and pulls over a newly-cleared chair sit opposite her. “Do you care about this?” he asks, waving at the piles. 

“About what? Stories?” she asks, and takes her first bite. 

“Them. The people, all those people we talked to.” 

She gets distracted, watching him chew. His cheek doesn’t move right. “Yeah,” she says. “I care. Of course I care. How could I not?” 

“Because they’re nobody,” he says. “You don’t know them.”

“They don’t have to be somebody for me to have empathy. I mean, it doesn’t take anything from me. To sympathize a bit.” She shrugs. “Didn’t you?” 

“I didn’t think about any of them,” he says, no hesitation. 

Karen will never truly know him, she thinks. She might be able to understand the way he works, the way the cogs fit together, but she will never feel it in her bones. Not like she knows who Matt is, or Foggy. More like how she knows Frank, but without the gut check morality she could count on. 

“Is that bad?” he says teasingly, after a long silence. 

“It’s just different,” she answers. “Thanks for the food.” 

“Sure,” he says, so casual, and then stays with her for four more hours, reading through research and staying absolutely silent. She doesn’t know him really, but she has spent endless hours with him in total silence. That might count for something. She’s not sure. 

She’s considering going home when the room gets subtly colder. It takes Karen a moment to realize what it is - not faulty heating, since the vents are blowing hot air. No, it's something else. 

"Goddamn it," she mutters. "He never checks his texts." She looks at her phone, but it must've died at some point because the screen's black. 

"Who?" Billy asks. 

"Come on," she sighs, and leads him through the office to the fire escape, and outside. As predicted, Daredevil is standing in the darkness on the next landing, looking vaguely squinty and ominous. "You could try texting," she says.

"I did, you didn't answer." 

"Well, then you could call the office." 

"It was faster to come here." 

"You and Daredevil text?" Billy says. He's trying not to smile, which for him means that he's not smiling but his eyes are warm. "You have his number?" 

"Stay out of this," she tells him, but she's almost smiling herself because this situation is ridiculous. "What do you want?" she asks Matt, turning back to him. 

"I thought you were alone," he says. 

"Well. I'm not. What is it?" 

"How have you been?" he asks awkwardly, and she rolls her eyes. "How's work?" 

"Work's fine. I'm good. Why did you show up on a fire escape in the dark? To ask me how work is?" 

Billy does smile then, standing next to her, and Matt shifts. And then Karen puts together what's happening, why he's asking her these questions. "How's Elektra?" she says pointedly, and that hits home. 

"She's fine," Matt says, and then he turns his head, hears something. "I've got to go." 

"Sure you do." She wishes she sounded less horribly disappointed. "I'll see you around, I guess. Bye." And she turns around and storms back inside, opening the door before Billy can do it for her. 

He catches up in a few steps. "Are you in a love triangle with Daredevil?" he teases, and Karen laughs in a way that's painful. "I'm serious. What was that?" 

"No," she says. "I'm not that interesting." 

"Does he always show up like that?" Billy continues. "It's a bit much." 

Karen takes a deep breath, and bravely tries a joke. "Yeah, it's very on brand." 

Billy snorts, and follows her back into the office. "Explain to me how Hell's Kitchen has more superheroes per square foot than the rest of the known world," he says. "Daredevil. Iron Fist. Hawkeye lives around here, I heard. That guy from Harlem." 

"Luke," Karen says without thinking. 

"You know him?" 

"Foggy represented him, temporarily," she says, and she's thinking about Jessica Jones too. Karen's been meaning to get coffee with her, get some quotes. "I don't know. Lucky, I guess." 

"Maybe it's something in the water." He watches her shut her laptop, gather it up with her notepad and put it in her purse. "We're leaving?" 

"Yeah, I'm not getting anything done," she says, putting one arm into her coat and struggling for the other. She sniffs once, then twice. 

Billy says her name, and when she glances up at her his eyes are on her again, burning deep into her. She has to ask him to repeat himself. "Are you okay?" he repeats, looking further concerned. 

"I'm fine. Let's go," she says, and brushes past him out the door as quick as she can. She doesn't want him to ask her any more sympathetic questions. She wants to be left alone. 

He doesn't leave her alone. He walks her to the subway, sits in the seat next to her and doesn't mention how stiff and still she holds herself. They walk back to the apartment together, and as she's unlocking the door it occurs to her that they haven't spoken a single word the entire time. He's never quiet that long. But he's not mad; she looks over at him and he smiles briefly, politely. "What?" he says. 

“You're good?" 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because you aren’t talking to me.” 

“Because you’re upset,” he counters, sounding impatient. “And you want your space. Right?” 

She doesn’t know if he’s right. She doesn’t like him knowing. She finishes unlocking the door and goes inside without answering him. 

Apparently Billy doesn’t take kindly to his moves being turned back on him. He follows her in, and loudly takes off his coat. “Okay,” he says. “So I’ve pissed you off somehow.”

“No,” she says. “I’m not pissed.”

“What, then.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with you,” she says. “I’m on edge. And you acting like you know me-“

“I do know you.” He leaves the closet open for her to to hang up her coat next, another routine, and Karen sometimes feels like she’s going crazy again, letting people in just because she can’t think better of it in the moment. 

“No,” she says. “We’ve spent a lot of time together. That’s two separate things.”

He makes a cocktail next, like he does every night. Gin and tonic. Slams it down faster than usual and makes another. “So you’re saying we don’t know each other,” he says. 

“No. I mean, obviously we do. It’s just…” She huffs out a breath. “God. It’s just… it’s just different.” 

“Should I not have left you alone?” he fires back at her, no time to breathe. “Was that the wrong move for some fucking reason?” 

“No! I was just worried.”

“Okay, so I said not to be worried.” 

“No, you tried to tell me about myself.” 

Billy shrugs dramatically; it’s clear he doesn’t know what’s wrong with that. “Okay? And?” 

“And you don’t know me. Not like that,” she adds, and that seems to work, for once. 

He doesn’t relax; he knocks back the second drink and then leans on the counter and looks at her. She’s seen this look before too, the tense containment of him trying not to feel anything. And failing hard, too. He fails, every time. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he finally says, with politeness so formal it makes her headache twice as bad. 

“Do what you want,” she says. “I’m going to bed.” 

And she does, or she intends to. She shuts her eyes and lays in darkness, listening for sounds from Billy she knows she won’t hear. He doesn’t make noise unless he wants to. It’s Frank who finally breaks the tension, opening the front door with no concern for quiet. “Hey,” she hears him say, probably to Billy. Then he comes into the bedroom. 

He’s not bloody. Must’ve been doing something different than usual. And he’s not closed off the way killing makes him. “Hey,” he says to her. “Why’s Bill on the couch?” 

“We’re… arguing,” she says, sitting up. The room’s still dark, but she’s got a good sense of where he is. He’s 

“Billy? Thought you two were getting along.” 

Karen shakes her head. “We aren’t right now.” 

“That kid.” Frank just sounds affectionate. He pulls off his jeans, looks out the bedroom door at nothing in particular. “He can get along with anybody. It’s when he stops getting along with you that y’know it’s real. Y’know?” 

“No,” Karen says. “I don’t.” 

Frank looks at her; her tone of voice is sharp, and that always gets his attention. “Okay,” he says. “Well I do. Kid’s drinking himself to death out there, just like his old man.” 

“Then he can make up with me,” Karen says. “I’m not just…” 

“Just?” Frank repeats. 

“Just around to make the two of you feel better. Or more human. Or something,” she says, adds because she can’t help it, “I’m not your peacemaker.” 

Frank sits on the edge of the bed, by where she’s curled up, knees against her chest, and he puts his hand over her foot. She has big feet; he has bigger hands. “Yeah,” he says. “You aren’t.” And he gets up walks back out to the living room and she hears him say, “Grow up, Bill. C’mon. Come ON,” he repeats, and Billy comes. 

Frank pushes Billy down on the bed, on the other side of Karen, and he stands at the end, arms crossed. Karen looks at him, sees the Punisher for a second. The implacable machine made of anger and pain. But his face is too open for that. “Alright,” he says. “Talk. No dissent in the ranks.” 

“We’re not an army,” Karen says. 

“You aren’t in charge of us,” Billy says on top of her. Then they spend a moment refusing to look at each other. 

Frank looks at the ceiling for a minute. “Christ. You could give my kids a run for their money.” His kids that are dead, thanks to Billy, but he doesn’t seem to be thinking about that. “Why you fighting?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Billy says, sounding annoyed and drunk.

“We aren’t fighting,” Karen says. “We don’t agree. He just decided he wanted to sleep on the couch because of it.” 

“I was trying to give you space,” Billy says. 

“Try asking me if I need space first,” Karen snaps.

“You clearly don't want to be anywhere near me.” 

“I never said that.” 

“You said I don’t really know you. Should I take that differently?” he demands, and they make eye contact on accident, when she goes to glare at him. 

“I don’t know, but I want to talk about it,” she says. “I don’t want to have to keep guessing while you don’t say anything. Or give me glib bullshit answers.” 

“You want the kid to talk?” Frank says with a laugh. “Good luck.” 

“Fuck off,” Billy says. “Don’t you need to shower, Frankie?” 

Frank gives them a kind of smirk. “Play nice,” he says, and leaves for the bathroom, slinging a towel over his shoulder. 

Karen is determined to let the silence linger as long as it needs to, but she doesn’t need to test her resolve. Billy speaks almost immediately. “So I give you glib bullshit answers?” he asks. He leans towards her a little, or maybe he sways. He had a lot to drink. 

“Yes, you do. A lot,” she says, looking straight ahead. 

“And instead of that I should…” 

“Talk. To me,” Karen says obstinately. 

“Can’t say I’m… a fan. Of that,” he says, and she almost wants to laugh at how he seems to think that’s a surprise. 

“I’m not a fan of you trying to always stay one step ahead than me,” Karen says. 

“Okay,” Billy says after a moment. “Fair enough. We’ll talk.” He slides further to the side, his head on the bed next to her. Karen rolls her eyes at the drama of it all, but she puts her hand over his hair and keeps it there. And when Frank comes to bed a bit later, Billy rolls into the middle of them, sleeps there. 

Karen rehearses the words for tomorrow’s fight in her head, mixes them up with some of the things the kids they interviewed said, and has fucked up dreams about Billy as a teenager, with blood spilling out of his mouth and a broken arm. She wakes up in a panic, reaching for him, and Billy tolerates his face being touched. “What?” he says, no grogginess. 

“Sorry,” she whispers back. 

He doesn’t tell her it’s okay, but he does settle in a little closer than before, arm touching her. She gets up a few hours later, too early. And she knows it’s too early because neither of the military boys she lives with are up, but she can’t sleep. She makes a pot of coffee, and sits cross-legged on the island to watch it brew. 

Deliberate sound alerts her, Billy walking up from behind. He holds her phone out to her. “You got texts,” he says, and leans on the counter next to her, also facing the coffeemaker. 

“Who?” she frowns. 

“Didn't look,” he shrugs. 

Could be a lie. She doesn’t care. There’s a new group message, and four new texts. First is Claire. _Karen was right. Let’s consolidate. Everybody check in_

Matt responded first. _You woke me up._

Trish, as in the host of Trish Talk and also Jessica Jones’ sister, who Karen can hardly believe she has a working phone number for, texted back next. _Good idea! Nothing to report_

Then Luke. _Claire we’re eating breakfast together right now. I’m looking at you._

As Karen’s reading, a new text from an unknown number in the group pops up. _This is dumb. Superhero group text is cliche already._

And Claire answers, _Then why did you smile when you looked at your phone just now_? _PS that’s Jessica everybody_. 

Karen sends her own check in. _Hey guys, all good over here_. Then she locks her phone again, looks up at the coffee maker. It’s almost done, hissing and sputtering. 

Billy’s still next to her, and he hasn’t said anything but she doesn’t want to point it out and start a fight this early. She takes a slow breath, lets it out slower, and he yawns. “What’re you doing up this early?” he asks. 

“I’m just up,” she says, and he kinda nods. But that’s not really the truth. “I started getting up early when I was working at the law firm. I’d get up early to take care of things, and. Still do.” 

“What do you take care of now?” Billy asks. 

“Nothing,” Karen shrugs, more than a little bitter. “I do some writing, sometimes. But sometimes I just… sit.” Sit and read, or pace, or go to a coffee shop and tell herself that scouring the news for details about what her loved ones did the night before is the same as working. “Why are you up?” she asks then. 

“Because you are,” he answers. 

Karen puts her hand over his, where he’s gripping the counter. “I didn’t mean to fight,” she says. “Last night. I was upset about a lot of stuff, that was kind of the final straw.” 

“It’s fine,” he says smoothly. “I could’ve been more… cooperative.” 

“Cooperative,” she repeats. “Like I was interrogating you?” 

“No,” Billy sighs. “Not like that. Like I… disengaged too quickly. I should’ve stayed in.” 

She gets so tired of this tactical language, but it’s easier when it’s in this context. Her smile is honest, and his answering one might even be, too. “Okay,” she says. 

“Okay,” he echoes.

They have a cup of coffee together that morning. They do that other mornings, too, when he feels her get up, she thinks. Most of the days when she gets up too early, Billy’s up too, and sits with her. Most of the time, they don’t talk. And that becomes comfortable, another routine they’ve fallen into. Karen starts to think that routines are a way he expresses caring, like arguments. 

 

 

The first time someone tried to kill her and Billy was less than a week after Frank brought him home. Six days, to be specific. His stomach had a six inch stab wound, his face was shredded. And an army came for them. 

Karen tried to fight them off, at first. She had her handgun and three clips, burned through two of them before she decided to trust Billy with it. And then she watched a man who was barely alive as it is knock out the last six men with five bullets. 

He ripped his stitches, of course. Almost fainted on the way to meet Claire. Karen practically carried him - didn’t think they were gonna make it, never in her wildest dreams. But they made it - she was covered in his blood, and he was a dangerous grayish color, still there, though. Clinging to her. He fell, sagging in against her shoulder, and she’ll never forget the smell of him, blood and sweat and something close to death. 

And Frank came home smelling like that tonight. Only for a second. Then he went to shower, but Karen’s heart stutters in her chest, and when he’s gone Karen gets up to make herself a drink. 

Billy’s there, drinking. He looks at her and gets out a second glass. “What’s your poison?” he asks. 

“Whatever you’re drinking,” she says. He pours her a heavy fifth, adds a couple ice cubes, and when he hands it over she downs it, straight up. “Another.” 

He gives her a look, but he obeys. And after she has the second one, he finally says, “Should I be worried?” 

She shrugs. “Should you?” While he’s worrying, she takes the bottle from him and pours her own third drink. 

Billy doesn’t stop her; she appreciates that about him, truly, that he doesn’t try to control what she does. Not physically. And that’s something. “Frank?” he asks. 

She clenches her teeth. “Not exactly.” 

“Karen,” he says while she’s drinking, which means something because he never fucking says her name. Not that it bothers her. “What is it.” 

She wants a fourth drink but forces herself to wait. “What does he do?” she asks. “Do you know?” 

Billy shrugs. “Why?” 

“He was killing people,” Karen says quietly. “Right? Today. I could… I could smell it on him.” And she fills her glass with water, downs that next. She doesn’t want a hangover. 

He evaluates her; she can feel his eyes on her so intently. “Does this bother you?” he asks - asks, and doesn’t just tell. So she nods. “You met him on a murder trial,” he points out. 

“That doesn’t mean I agree with everything.” 

“But you’re living with him,” Billy says, and the look he gives her points out that she’s living with him, too. 

“Yeah. Well. Hence,” she says, and pours herself a fourth. But she takes it slower. “My mother would kill me,” she says. “Getting drunk in an apartment with two strange men.” 

“We aren’t strangers,” Billy frowns. 

“No, but you’re for sure strange.” She’s feeling the alcohol now, and she thinks he is too. He’s saying what he thinks, for once. That’s absolutely never something he does. Karen sways a bit, and Billy steadies her with a hand on her back. 

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he says. 

“You’re one to talk. You have a couple every night.” 

He deliberately pours another one, and as he brings it up to his lips, he says, “Well. Runs in the family.” And he takes another sip. 

Karen glares at him for a long time, while he avoids her gaze and plays everything very casual. “Stop,” she finally says. “You can’t make a big deal about not having a family and then just throw shit like that out there.” 

“What would your mother think about your profanity,” Billy says. 

“What would yours?” Karen fires back without thinking. 

Billy shrugs, then raises his eyebrows at her over his next sip. “You regret saying that?” he asks with a devilish smirk growing on his face. “Yeah? You feel like a dick right now?” 

“Little bit,” she admits. “Not that much, though.” 

He laughs out loud at that, and looks down at his glass, swirling the ice and liquor around. "Fair enough," he says. Their good mood lasts a little longer, a few moments of smiling to themselves and pleasant loopiness, before it fades. "You don't have to live here," he finally says. "If you don't want to." 

"I know that," she says. 

"If you need money-"

"I don't need money." He squints at her, and she repeats, "I don't need money! I really don't." 

He shrugs, looks away and takes another sip. "Are you just being stubborn, though," he mumbles into his glass. 

"No, I'm not being stubborn, Billy. I have money. I'd move out if I wanted to move out. I like having two... the two of you here. I like it." 

"Even though we drive you to drink?" he says with a small smile and real concern. 

She makes a face at him, and can't think of something tactful to say. "Only some of the time," she eventually says, faintly. 

It's hard to get into bed next to Frank, even though he's asleep and smells only like body wash now. The body wash they all share, which usually is comfortable but right now just twists up her gut. Billy knows that somehow, and he rolls over her into the middle of the bed. “Is this okay?” he whispers. 

“Whatever.” The word gets caught in her throat. She only says some of it, and then she tugs on his arm. 

“What?” he kinda grunts. 

“Your arm.” 

He lifts his arm hesitantly, puts it over her shoulders. Doesn’t seem like he can quite believe that’s what she wants. Karen thinks he needs to get over that, though, because she falls asleep and doesn’t dream, and that’s exactly what she needs. 

 

 

He shows up at her office, taking shit from Ellis on the way in. Karen catches the end of it, when she sees Billy and hurries on out. “Karen, why didn’t you tell us about your new boy toy?” Ellis asks. 

“You want your copy on time? Leave us alone,” Karen responds, which buys her enough silence to usher Billy into her office. And she shuts the door, too. 

“It’s different with the scars,” he says conversationally. “People stop calling you pretty when you’ve been disfigured.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry. Did Ellis say something stupid?” 

“He mainly had a lot of questions about you,” Billy says, and Karen can feel the magnetic pull of his charm for a moment before she stops herself. Billy reaches out for her hand, and she lets him have it for a second. 

“What’d you tell him?” she asks, and lets her hand slip out of his. 

“Nothing,” Billy says, smiling down at her. “It’s like you don’t even know me.” That’s a joke now, with a week’s distance from the argument.

Karen smiles back. “What are you doing here, then?” 

“I’m here to take you to dinner. If you want that,” he adds. 

“Dinner,” she repeats. “Why?” 

“I’m hungry,” he says. Which is not a reason convincing on any level. It’s plausible deniability at best. But that works for Karen. 

“Okay. Can you wait twenty minutes? I have a copy deadline.” 

“Sure.” 

So Karen writes with Billy lounging in a chair, on his phone. She finds herself looking up at him every so often, and smiling for some reason. It speeds her writing up, actually. Karen won’t consider that too long; it’s counterproductive. 

She’s about halfway done when there’s a knock on her door, and she says “Come in,” a couple seconds before she realizes who’s at the door. And when Matt opens the door, she knows and hates how he hears her heart rate pick up. “Hi Matt,” she says. “Billy’s here.” 

“Hi Billy,” Matt says. “Hey Karen.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I was in the neighborhood,” Matt says unconvincingly. “How’s it going?” 

“I’m okay. Are you good to be walking around?” she asks with a frown.

Matt glares at her from behind his dark glasses, except he’s actually glaring slightly over her head to keep up the lie. “I’ve been fine for weeks, Karen,” he says. 

“Just wanted to check.” 

The conversation hits a lull so awkward Karen wants to collapse. And Billy’s just sitting there, still on his phone. 

Eventually Matt speaks up again. “So are you working on a new story?” 

She can’t tell if that ‘you’ was plural or not. “We are, yeah,” she says. “I’m actually trying to get some copy out. So.” 

“Right. Sorry. Well, what I wanted to say, was that I’ve taken on a new client. A new couple of clients. And if you have any time, I’d appreciate some consulting work from you.”

“Sure,” Karen says after a second. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Do you want to discuss it over dinner?” he asks, and she makes a concerted effort to keep her breathing normal. 

“Sorry, I’ve already got plans,” she says. “But we can schedule some other time. Another day. Is that okay?” 

“Of course,” Matt says. He’s too kind to let her hear how disappointed he is by that, but she hears it anyways. “I’ll call you,” he adds, and leaves, his cane tapping down the hall. 

Billy looks up when they’re alone again. “Is he the guy Daredevil is jealous of?” 

Karen is almost caught off-guard enough to laugh hysterically, but she catches herself. A snort manages to get out, just half of one. “No,” she says. “It’s a longer story than that.” 

“How long?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Too long to tell you about right now.” 

“Another time, then,” he says, but Karen doesn’t commit to that. 

“Where are we going to dinner?” she asks. 

“I made a reservation.” 

Karen raises her eyebrows. “Fancy,” she says. “What’s the occasion?” 

Billy shrugs. “How’s the copy coming?” 

“It’s coming,” Karen says. “I need a couple more minutes.” 

“No rush,” he says, and looks back down at his phone. And he doesn’t bother her anymore, so she finishes up - not well, but quickly. 

“Okay,” she says. “Where are we going. Do I need to go change?” 

“Nah.” 

“Okay,” she repeats, very dubious, and she hesitates in place because this is all feeling sketchy. 

Billy stands, puts his hands in his pockets. He’s reading her face, and then he looks down. “It’s just a nice dinner,” he said. “Thought you’d want something nice.”

Her heart thuds unevenly in her chest there. “Oh. Well.” She’s caught off guard by that, and struck silent.

Billy sees that. He smiles at her, and holds his hand out to her. “Come on,” he says. They don’t talk about it, about him taking time to think about what she wants. They don’t talk about how it affects her, how she sniffs a little on the way. And Karen thinks they could probably build a very strong relationship on not addressing things like this. 

 

 

She doesn't sleep lightly, but even she can’t help but wake up when Billy sits straight up in bed. She reaches over for him, but he’s out of reach. Frank’s not back, so they’ve spread out over the bed. 

The silence in the room holds tense for several seconds, while she breathes and listens for Billy. He doesn’t make any sound, so she opens her eyes. Light from the bathroom nightlight spills in through the door, outlining him in soft blue. He’s just sitting there, head bowed, arms holding him up. 

“Bill,” she says. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” he echoes on an exhale. 

“Nightmare, or something?” she says, her voice creaky. She glances over at the clock, which tells her it’s 3:13 in the morning. 

“Nah, I’m fine,” he says after a second too long. He lies back down next to her, one arm under his head. 

Karen rolls onto her side and puts her hand on his chest. His heart is beating double-time, which kind of ruins his attempted calm illusion. She takes her hand away and rolls over onto her stomach, closer to him. She’s quiet for a while, sleepy brain moving a little slower than normal. And she might doze off in the middle of that, but the important thing is that she wakes back up and says, “Where do you think Frank is?” 

“Somewhere,” Billy says. “Making people pay.” 

“Would you tell him?” 

“Tell him what.” 

“If you’re really okay. What you’re feeling.” 

“Nope,” Billy says. “Sorry to disappoint.” He turns over and puts his arm over her, and she feels his heart rate finally begin to steady. 

They both fall asleep again for a bit, waking up when one of them moves. But even with interruptions, Karen’s up at six-thirty, eyes dry and refusing to close again. She sighs, and tries to extricate herself without waking Billy up. 

At first she thinks she’s finally done it, but Billy joins her in the kitchen a few minutes into the first pot of coffee. He gets a couple mugs out. Karen’s catching up on her texts - forty minutes ago, Matt and Trish got into a heated conversation about whether or not confession counts as therapy, which devolved into an argument about whether or not almost dying with your girlfriend is as bad as being mind-controlled, abused, and famous as a child. Karen honestly thinks it’s a toss-up. 

And Billy cracks his shoulder, as he’s walking towards her, and Karen kind of cracks too. 

“Did you ever talk to somebody about the stuff you’ve been through?” she asks him, even though it’s too early to talk. 

He gives her a patronizing kind of look, and doesn’t answer. “You think I need to talk to somebody?” he says. 

“I’m actually just curious,” she says. “We don’t really talk. About that stuff.” 

Billy crosses his arms, but he looks sleepy and relatively friendly, not angry. “Okay,” he says. “What are you getting at, Karen.” 

“Emotionally,” she says. “Have you ever processed it, y’know?” 

He doesn’t know how to answer her; he leans next to her and looks at the coffee maker as cover. “You aren’t trying to get me to go to therapy,” he says finally, with a kind of dubious faith in her that she can’t tell if she’s flattered by or angry about. 

“No,” she says. “Not exactly. I wouldn’t object, but. No, I just wanted to talk about it.” 

“Have you ever been to therapy?” he asks, challenging her. 

“I was,” she nods a couple times. “Yeah. It was fine.” 

“For what?” 

"Would it be the worst thing?" she says instead of answering. "If I cared enough to try and make you go to therapy." 

"You're saying you don't?" he comes back at her.

She's so tired, sometimes, of the chess game that is talking to him. "Forget it," she says. "Never mind." 

He doesn't like being given up on. It bothers him very distinctly. He fidgets in the next few minutes more than she's ever seen him fidget. "No, I haven't," he finally says. "And I don't plan to." 

"You're as bad as Matt." She gets a mug out, pours a cup of coffee for herself. 

He does too. "Is that why you don't want me to meet him?" he asks. 

"You've met him." 

"I did eventually. You're keeping me away from him, though.” 

She sets her cup down and crosses her arms. "What makes you think that?" She cuts off his answer to continue, "And what makes you think it could possibly be anything more than you being a fugitive and also prone to killing people near you?”

“That’s offensive,” he says without missing a beat. 

“Are you offended?” 

Billy delights at that question. He smiles at her, and dips his head for a second before he answers. “No.” 

Karen’s phone buzzes, and she looks down at it. _I’m just saying it wouldn’t kill you to make sure you’re in a healthy place mentally…_ Trish says, with an immediate follow up from Matt that begins with _Oh so a talk show host knows about healthy mental states…_ and surely doesn’t get any better after that. Karen turns her phone over and ignores it. 

“Popular,” Billy says. 

“Hardly,” Karen says. “They’re arguing over bullshit.” 

“They,” he says. “Who’s they?” She looks at him, mentally dares him to ask her to introduce him. And Billy seems to change his mind, says nothing else. 

A few hours later, she gets to saying what she meant, when she’s less exhausted by his bullshit. They’re on the couch eating sausage and eggs he made, watching some show about murder, and she tells him, “Can’t really trust you when you killed Frank’s family. Make sense?”

“I didn’t,” he says stiffly. 

“You didn’t,” she repeats. 

“No. I didn’t. I wasn’t even there.” 

“Nice. Plausible deniability.” She can’t help her tone from being bitter, doesn’t think she wants to. 

“No,” Billy says. “I refused.” 

Karen frowns a little. “You refused? What kind of soldier refuses?” 

“What do you know about soldiers?” he stutters a little bit. 

“I know Frank,” she says, and that tracks. He nods a couple times, and they’re quiet for a while, listening to some reenactment of a trial. 

Eventually Billy speaks again. “I refused,” is all he says. “So I guess you tell me.” 

“I can’t let you near anyone I care about,” she says. “If I’m being dumb, just me, that’s fine. But I can’t let you hurt anyone else I love.” 

“I don’t care about any of them,” he says. 

“I know,” she says. “That’s the problem.”

The next time he speaks to her it’s to ask if she’ll be home tonight, so at least he isn’t trying to lie to her. That’s something. Or she tries to tell herself it is. 

 

 

Jessica, as always, looks like a dumpster spit her out directly onto some kind of magazine cover. She’s pouting very slightly, which Karen then realizes is just her actually pouting because she’s upset, not posing. Though she could also be posing, realistically. Karen can’t truly confirm which. 

“Hey,” Jessica sighs. “What’s up, or whatever.” 

“Hi,” Karen smiles. “Are you going to stay and have a bite?” 

“God, no. I’m just here cuz Trish wanted an introduction. What’s that even about? What is this, the court at Versailles?” Jessica is holding a paper coffee cup from somewhere Karen’s never heard of; she takes a dramatic sip. “Anyways. We’ve got a table. Come on.” 

Karen follows her through the restaurant. It’s decent, the kind of place with nice bar food. She didn’t think it had preferential seating, until she saw Trish at a table separated from most of the other patrons. 

Trish, radio talk show host and general celebrity, stands up and hugs Karen hello. “It’s so great to meet you,” she says warmly, like she’s the one who’s lucky. 

“You too,” Karen says, and then her manners kind of kickstart. “Yeah, it’s a pleasure. Sorry I’m late, trains were… well. You know.” 

Trish nods. “Not a problem, we just sat down. Jessica, you think you could stay for a few minutes?” 

“Nope, I’m out of here. Case to work on,” Jessica says. “Have fun talking about your lame touchy-feely shit.” She accepts an awkward hug from her sister and beats a hasty retreat. And then it’s just Karen, with Trish. From Trish Talk. 

“So,” Trish says when they’re sitting. “It’s been pretty crazy.” 

“Yeah, to say the least.” 

“You’re a journalist now, right? Out of the law business.” 

Karen is star-struck. Trish knows where she’s working. “Yeah,” she says. “Yep. Long hours still, and crazy deadlines. I love it, though.” 

“Me too,” Trish smiles. “Getting the truth out there, talking to real people. That’s what I love about it.” 

“Oh me too,” Karen nods quickly. “I love talking to people. And it’s so inspiring to have the power to inform, to set the record straight on things.” 

“Oh my god, it’s like you’re reading my mind,” Trish says, and Karen’s trying to remember how to react to that normally. But then someone comes over to take their order, and Trish orders a few things for them to try. “So you live by Jessica?” Trish asks when they’re alone again. Even the way she drinks water is elegant. Karen’s entranced. 

“Yeah, a couple streets over.” 

“Not a great neighborhood, do you think you’re safe?” Trish asks. 

“I have some protection,” Karen nods. “But also, with the guys I live with, nobody’s really messing with me.” 

“Who do you live with?” Trish asks, naturally, and Karen realizes the situation she’s gotten herself into. 

“Oh,” she says. “Well. Frank.” 

“Frank,” Trish repeats. “A boyfriend?” 

Karen makes a face. “No. Not at all. He’s…” 

Trish realizes it then. “Frank Castle?” she says, and Karen kind of grits her teeth. “Oh my God.” 

“I’m not in any danger,” Karen says. 

“Okay… you said guys, who’s the other guys?” 

“Uh. Remember the head of Anvil security who went… missing,” Karen says slowly, and she can tell Trish does from her reaction. 

“You are not living with that Russo guy,” Trish says.

Karen makes another face. “It’s temporary. My apartment was ruined when the CIA kinda, came for Billy and me. To get to Frank. So, we’re all staying in Billy’s safe house.” That she pays the rent for now. 

“Jesus,” Trish says. “But do _you_ feel safe there?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Karen nods, but she knows she sounds unsure. “They’re great guys. They’ve never threatened me or anything.” 

“Okay… but if you need somewhere to live, I have a spare room.” 

Karen frowns. “You want me to come live with you? You don’t know me.”

Trish shrugs. “I know you’re with me. We’re… support staff, for some people trying to do the right thing. So, yeah. I know enough. What do you think, would you live somewhere else if you had the option?” 

“I, uh.” Their food comes while Karen is trying to put together words. And even after a few bites, she still doesn’t know what to say. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” she says. 

“Unless you tell me otherwise, that sounds a little bit like a yes,” Trish says, and Karen makes eye contact, like solid eye contact for the first time. Trish’s eyes are so gorgeously blue. “Karen,” she says. “Really.” 

“I don’t mind living with them,” Karen says. “I like them.” 

“You can like them and not live with them.” 

Karen looks at her plate. “Is this part of what Jessica refers to as your ‘secret plan to remake the Avengers but with girls this time?’” she asks on a hunch. 

“It’s not a secret and it’s not a plan. That’s just what she calls making friends,” Trish sighs. “But yeah. I guess that’s part of it, that I don’t believe anyone should have to live with two war criminals to be safe. I have a panic room, my front door has three locks, and I’ve been missing having a roommate,” she adds with half a smile. “Come on. It’ll be fun.” 

"I'll think about it," she promises. 

And she does think about it. Almost constantly. She and Trish start texting outside of the group chat, talking about journalism and stories and their own stories. And then they talk about therapy and trauma, and Trish becomes the person Karen texts when her heart's so tight she can't talk. She didn't have one of those before. Sometimes Matt. Trish starts talking about Matt differently, a little more disillusioned, after Karen confides their history. Karen is sure she starts talking about Jessica differently too, with more love for her soft heart and destructive coping mechanisms. And the silence at home, with Billy and Frank, becomes suffocating. 

Billy can tell, to his credit. He knows she's not happy. Frank is gone too much to see it, on a new crusade to help veterans or something. But noticing for Billy is trying to fix it without ever addressing it, and that's hardly enough for Karen. 

It's still comforting sometimes. To sleep curled up with Billy in that big bed, guns under both their pillows. It feels familiar, like something she can understand. But most of the time it's frustrating, for him to have so many hair-triggers and so little desire to explain a single one. 

On early mornings, Karen can text Trish now, who's up to do her show. _Weird dream about the Event_ , she says today. _I could fly, but couldn't fly away from it._

_Super weird,_ Trish agrees. 

_Probably means something about change in my life,_ Karen sends, and notices Billy coming up, glancing at her screen. "Good morning," she says pointedly. 

"Hey," he answers. "Can't sleep?" 

"Nope." 

He nods, settles in next to her, and she gets irritated just by that. She just wants to talk. So she talks. ”Apparently insomnia or nightmares can be common after trauma, I guess. Makes sense that we're up all the time." 

"Guess it does," he says, which is the same as saying nothing. 

"It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to go to work," she says. "I could nap." 

"Naps help," he smiles, but even that feels false. Everything about his soundbite answers is canned, and grating. 

"What do you all day, anyways?" she asks. "When you don't come visit me or go out with Frank. What do you do?" 

"Not much." 

"That's not an answer," she finally says out loud.

Billy looks at her, all smiling faded completely from his face. "I stay in," he says. "I'm supposed to be dead, after all." 

"Stay in and what, read? Or something?" He shrugs. "I'm just curious," she says, flushing at the embarrassment she knows she's supposed to feel. "It's not an unreasonable question." 

"You don't want me to be at home all day?" he says. 

"I don't want you to guess at my motive instead of answering my questions," she snaps back. She hates getting mad, her face goes redder than her hair. "I'm not even being nosy. We live together." 

"You're barely home," he tells her. 

"Because I have a job!" she says as loudly as she wants. "And a life, and people that need me to go take care of things for them." 

She can see his next reply coming. "Oh, and I don't," he says, crossing his arms. 

"Didn't say that." 

"But it's true. Everyone that knows I'm alive wants me dead." 

"Are you including me in that?" she asks, when before she would've just wondered.

"Should I?" he asks. She can't see anything in his eyes. 

Karen just looks at him, speechless with anger. Billy doesn't look back. The coffee's finished, so he pours each of them a cup. And Karen sees then, in that moment, how routines can be strings to tie yourself to somebody with, to keep them from leaving. 

She ignores the coffee he offers her and texts Trish. _So… how serious were you about me crashing with you, perhaps?_

_COMPLETELY!!!!!!_ Trish replies almost immediately. _Have you changed your mind??_

Karen hesitates, or she tries to. She doesn’t have to wait long at all to feel the uncomfortable twist in her gut, the shitty way he made her feel over a simple question, and she answers. _If you’re sure it won’t be a problem._

Trish is typing before Karen’s sent her answer. _I’ll be over to pick you up in fifteen, do you need help packing??_

_Nope. I travel light,_ Karen sends, and gets up to pack. 

Billy sees what she’s doing, and doesn’t ask a single question. It’s bullshit. He should have a question, and he should ask it. But he doesn’t. He waits till she’s putting her coat on, and then he says, “Going somewhere?” 

“Yep,” she says shortly. 

“Your friends? Your life.” 

If this is supposed to be charming, it fucking isn’t. “Yep.” 

Trish knocks on the door, comes in to help Karen carry things downstairs - because in addiction to being perfect in every other way, she’s strong as hell. But first she shakes Billy’s hand, gives him a business card. “If you’re looking for someone to talk to, she's a great lady,” she says. 

“Is your goal to have everybody go to one therapist?” Karen asks. 

“No,” Trish says. “There’s two of them, I just think he’d connect with Doctor Quinzel more. The professor can be a little intimidating. Come on, my car is waiting.” 

Billy has something odd in his face then, when she looks at him one last time. Or rather, it’s probably not that weird. He’s realizing that she’s serious, and he’s starting to regret, probably, being such a dickhead. Because he always regrets it after the fact, doesn’t he. Never enough to actually not be a dick. 

As much as Billy’s being a dick, though, Karen shouldn’t move out in a huff to live with her idol and role model. It isn’t wise and she knows it. But she does exactly that. 

“Did something happen?” Trish asks in the car. 

“Kind of,” Karen says. “I don’t know. It was… it was more of a fight over what he wasn’t saying, so. And it wasn’t even really a fight, he kept dodging.” 

Trish makes a face. “God. Are you alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

“He didn’t try to threaten you?” 

“Nah, he doesn’t do that. But. It’s still frustrating.” 

“Of course it is. Don’t worry, you’ve got a place with me as long as you need one. Jessica never uses the spare room anyways. She likes to feel like a vagabond, I think.” 

“Sounds like her,” Karen smiles, a little wobbly. Trish is kind enough not to comment on it, and to reach over the middle seat to put her arm around Karen’s shoulders in a half-hug. 

“You’d really like Doctor Quinzel too,” she begins. 

Karen snorts out a laugh that’s half tears. “We’ll see.” She sniffles a little, after Trish pulls away. “We should notify the group chat,” she says when she thinks of it. 

“I’ll handle it. You just relax,” Trish says. 

Karen’s never had an older sister, but right now, in the car, she gets a reference point. It’s nice. She lets the sun warm her face through the window, and she doesn’t think about Billy alone in the apartment for too long. Because that’s not her responsibility. It’s not fair for that to be on her. 

Trish doesn’t try and make her talk about it. She shows Karen the keycodes and deadbolts and the panic room door, and then she shows her her room. They’re talking about boundaries when Karen thinks to mention, “I sleep with a gun.” 

She sees something like fear on Trish’s face, for a second. “Oh,” Trish says after a second. 

“It isn’t loaded. I keep the clip out. But. It’s the only way I’ve been able to feel safe.” 

Trish nods a couple times. “Okay. So I won’t surprise you.” 

“Yeah, I should wake up if you knock on the door or something. I don’t sleep heavily anymore.” 

“Me neither.” 

They share a second of acknowledging how fucked up that is. Royally, for the record. “Thank you,” Karen says. “For this. I’m totally happy to pay rent, or-“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Trish says. “So come see the bathroom, I’ll clear some drawers out for you.” 

 

 

Frank shows up on her third night at Trish’s. She gets a call from an unknown number. “Hello?” she says. 

“Hey. I’m on the roof. Can you come up?” 

“Yeah, one sec.” She brings her phone, considers bringing her gun and doesn’t, ultimately. It’s Frank; if she’s not safe with him, she’s not safe anywhere. 

He’s off-duty; she sees it in his clothes, his posture. Been a while since he’s been out in just a hoodie, no kevlar over top. His hands are in his pockets, but he takes them out to give her a hug. “So Bill says you moved over here,” he says when they’ve separated. 

“Yeah.”

“Why?” 

She struggles for words for a second. “Because… well. What do you mean? There’s a lot of why’s.” 

“You worried about taking blowback from my mission?” 

“No,” she answers honestly. “No, it’s not that.” 

“You and Bill not getting along again?” he guesses next. She doesn’t know how to answer that, but apparently he sees something in her face. “I told you, he’s only a pain in the ass when he cares.” 

“That doesn’t make it okay, though,” she blurts out. “It’s not. It was frustrating. He was… he wanted me to be his mom. Or his girlfriend or something. And I don’t know how to deal with that.” 

Frank nods a couple times. He has a fading black eye. “Okay. Did he say something?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“To make you go. What was the thing.” 

Karen shrugs. “I don’t know him. And he won’t tell me anything. Also I don’t want you to think you can talk me into coming back, because I’m not coming back.” 

He makes a face. “Liked having you somewhere I could keep track of,” he says. “You sure he can’t fix it?” 

“He doesn’t want to, so.” Karen fiddles, picks at her chipped fingernail polish. It chips too fast. Pain in the ass. “No.” 

“It’s more than that,” Frank says, looking off somewhere at the skyline. “Y’know?” 

“What is,” Karen says flatly. 

“Bill doesn’t talk for anybody. To anybody.” 

Karen shrugs. “Okay. But it’s still frustrating. And I don’t have to put up with it.” 

“Alright. Yeah, I didn’t think you’d change your mind,” Frank says. “Had to give it a shot, though. I’ll miss having you around.” 

“I’ll miss you too,” she says, and hugs him again. 

“You’ll call if something goes wrong.” 

“Yeah, of course. And you can still call me, if you need anything.” 

“If I have someone else for you to rescue from death, and then argue with?” he snorts. “Yeah, I’ll call you right up. Since it went so well the first time.” But he bumps her arm and says quieter, “You know I’m gonna call.” 

“Good. Have you met Trish? You want to come downstairs and see the new place?” she asks. “It’s well fortified.” 

That gets him to smile. “Okay, yeah. Will she mind?” 

“No, we’re just watching a cupcake show,” Karen says, and then smiles when Frank does. “Come on. You’re gonna like her panic room.” 

Frank lets her loop her arm through his to lead him in. And what Karen loved most about Billy might have always been how much of him was like Frank.

 

 

Living with Trish means getting very used to unexpectedly seeing Jessica in the kitchen. “Hey, you look like a wreck,” Jessica says dismissively, as if she isn’t halfway through a container of unwashed grape tomatoes.

“I’m sick,” Karen says, and sneezes. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Because Trish says you don’t accept help unless things are really bad,” Karen answers, too tired to lie. 

Jessica narrows her eyes. “Trish and you seem to be getting along,” she says grumpily. 

“Yeah, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Jessica doesn’t answer, continues to pop tomatoes in her mouth two at a time and drink Coke around them - and they didn’t have Coke in the apartment, so did she bring her own? Karen doesn’t think too much about that. She turns the kettle on, which is why she came in here in the first place, and gets out the tea and honey. 

“What’re you sick with?” Jessica asks through a mouthful of food. It takes a moment to decipher. 

“A cold. The end of a sinus infection.” 

“Gross.” Jessica looks back in the fridge and takes out some provolone cheese slices to eat. Karen ends up watching her, on accident, and notices how Jessica’s knuckles are scabbed and bruised. 

“Are you okay?” Karen asks. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Hard to break me.” She shoves a rolled up piece of provolone in her mouth. “I’m starving. Are you?” 

“No. Are you healing? Maybe it’s for that,” Karen says, sniffles. “Healing factor, or whatever it’s called.” 

Jessica shrugs. “Probably. I dunno. Where’s Trish?” 

“Not sure. Did you text her?” 

“Can’t. No phone again. I crushed it. Accidentally,” Jessica adds. “I need it made out of vibranium or something.”

“It’d be a good investment, as far as superheroes go,” Karen shrugs.

Jessica glares. “Absolutely not. I hate that word. I’m just strong.” 

“You can fly. Oh wait, controlled falling,” Karen adds, and Jessica’s frown deepens. She doesn’t like being preempted. “I won’t say it if it bothers you,” Karen says. “You wanna watch Chopped?” 

“Yeah, alright,” Jessica says, and brings a bowl of chips. She plops down across the couch, moves her feet to let Karen sit at the end, and is generally friendly, for her. When she gets up for some oranges, she brings Karen juice and a rice cake on a plate. 

“Okay. Thanks,” Karen says hesitantly. 

“I’m not a good hostess,” Jessica answers, preemptively testy. “It just looked like something you’d like.” 

That feels like some kind of veiled insult, but Karen does like rice cakes. So she eats it, and drinks the juice. “If you stay till tonight,” she thinks to say, “we’re having a movie night. Trish is making popcorn.” 

“The one with rosemary?” 

“You’ve had it? She keeps putting it off.” 

“Yeah, it’s good. I may or may not have demanded that she make it basically daily. So it’s probably my fault.” Jessica yawns. “Sorry.” And promptly falls asleep on the couch. 

Karen picks up her phone to text Trish, and discovers several missed messages from the group. Luke looking for Jessica, Claire chiming in with news of a fight near Karen’s old place, and Matt complaining about at being in the library or something. Karen only gets a glance, because then she gets a call from a number she doesn’t recognize. 

“Hello?” she says, and sneezes again. 

“This is City Hospital, calling for Karen Page?”

“This is she. What’s… is something wrong?” 

“We have a patient-“ 

“Frank, Matt, or Billy?” 

The nurse kind of laughs. “Billy.” 

“Is he stable?” 

“Yes, he is. He has a serious concussion, and he needs someone to take him home. Are you able to come pick him up in the next hour or so?” 

Karen sneezes again. “Sure. I’ll be there.” 

When she hangs up, Jessica says without opening her eyes, “I’ll come.” 

“You don’t have to, it’s my dumb friend,” Karen says. 

“Yeah, but I’m bored. And you’re so sneezy, you’ll probably fall over on the subway at least twice,” Jessica says with her cheerful insolence. “I’ll come. And then we’ll have rosemary popcorn. Come on. Put a coat on.” 

“I’m in pajamas,” Karen says. “I’m getting dressed.” 

“Whatever. I wouldn’t make you.” 

But Karen is going to see Billy, so she gets dressed. Not nicely, but better than pajamas. 

Jessica kind of holds her on the subway, to keep her from falling ostensibly, but Karen is getting the idea that Jessica Jones is secretly a hugger. Or might’ve been, a long time ago. 

“So who’s the dumbass we’re picking up?” Jessica asks. “Is it Murdock?” 

“No,” Karen shakes her head. “Billy. Frank’s friend. Apparently he has a concussion.” 

“Billy who?” 

“Russo.” 

Jessica tosses her cup at a trashcan they’re passing; she looks mildly surprised when it actually makes it in. “The private contract army guy?” she says. “Thought he was dead.” 

“Was supposed to be,” Karen says. “Don’t tell anybody.” 

“I’m gonna tell the whole school,” Jessica says sarcastically. “What’s his damage, is he another do-gooding idiot?” 

“Opposite of that,” Karen says. “And apparently he has a concussion.” 

Karen is held up at the nurse’s station to get some information, and Jessica goes on ahead. Something around five minutes passes before Karen can join her in Billy’s room, and she’s more than a little worried about what Jessica might say or do. But when she walks in, Jessica is eating Billy’s chocolate pudding while he texts, so apparently they’re getting along. 

“Hey,” Karen says. 

Billy’s eyes fly to her. “I didn’t ask them to call you,” he says first. 

“Okay.” 

“I was out, when they brought me in. They went through my phone.” 

“Okay. Can you like, walk?” 

Jessica answers. “He can if I’m helping him.” 

Billy doesn’t like her, exactly. He's irritated. “I can walk fine.” 

“Well. Let’s go, then,” Karen says, and watches him try to stand with her arms crossed. The nurses didn’t mention the black eye and bruise covering the right side of his forehead. “What happened?” she asks. 

He wobbles, and Jessica holds him up with one hand, bored, while she finishes her last spoonful of pudding. “Nothing,” he says. 

“Sure looks like something, buddy,” Jessica says. “Come on. We’ve got places to go and rosemary popcorn to eat.” 

Billy allows himself to be removed from the hospital with minimal dirty looks and snark. He leans on Jessica reluctantly, looks at Karen constantly. But Karen refuses to look back, and Jessica’s alarmingly quiet, which probably means she’s paying attention, and that’s fucking terrifying. So suffice to say that the train ride is loaded. 

They take him to the apartment, the one she used to live in with them. The sight of it leaves her unexpectedly weak in the knees. So she takes over from Jessica as they’re walking in, and doesn’t complain when Jessica starts to hang back a few paces. 

Billy’s arm over her is as solid as ever. She forgot the way he smelled, odd as it is to think. Or maybe she forgot what blood smelled like. He’s always bleeding. 

“Are you and Trish having fun?” he asks stiffly while they wait for the elevator. 

“We’re fine,” Karen says. She feels the unspoken pressure to ask back, _how are you_ , but she can’t quite bring herself to. 

“Should we talk?” he says once they’re all in the elevator.

“I don’t know what we’d talk about.” 

He grits his teeth, which must hurt his bruised jaw. “About you leaving so abruptly,” he says, which seems to take physical effort to force out. “After I said you might want me dead.” 

“It wasn’t about that,” Karen says. 

“Then what was it about?” 

“Everything else, Billy.” The doors open, and she helps him out, gets him to the door and takes a step back. “It’s fine,” she says then, our of some twisting guilt. “I’m not mad. I just needed… more.” 

“More,” he repeats. “More what.” 

“More from my life,” she says. “From the people in it.” 

“So garbage barbie over there, she’s more?” 

“I’m trademarking that,” Jessica speaks up. “My dream house is a dumpster.” 

Billy is annoyed by that, but he doesn’t respond to her. He looks at Karen. “It’s because of my face,” he says. 

"No, it’s not because of your face,” Karen snaps, “though I’ll admit it’s probably partially because you think that’s the only thing it could be.” 

“Oh right, because it’s so wildly illogical to think it’s the biggest thing wrong with me that’s driving people away.” 

Karen clenches her hands into fists, aware that Jessica has leaned closer. “The biggest thing wrong with your face is not the biggest thing wrong with you,” she says through gritted teeth. “The biggest thing wrong with you is how fucking shallow you are.” 

“Shallow,” Billy repeats. 

“Yes. Because you’re scared. I don’t give a fuck what you look like.” Her voice is too loud. “I don’t! That’s not how I pick my friends. That’s not what I care about. And it’s not what you care about either, it’s just easy. Isn’t it. Easier than thinking about what’s inside the fancy suit.” The effect of that is kind of ruined by a sneeze. 

The look in his eyes is daring her to say more, and dreading it all the same. He’s propped up by the door, basically, and still trying to push her away. “What’s that?” he finally says. “What’s inside the suit, Karen?” 

Fuck it. She’s going to be honest.“A kid who’s scared he’ll never get adopted,” she says, and Billy snorts and looks down at the ground. “Pushing us away before we can give up on you. And I get it.” 

“But you give up anyways,” Billy says bitterly. 

“No,” Karen says. “I don’t give up. But I won’t settle for this relationship where I do everything to bridge the distance between us and you tell me I don’t care about you.” 

He won’t look back up. “Thanks for picking me up,” he says. 

That takes the wind out of her sails. She answers quieter after a second. “Sure. Do you need anything?” 

“No,” he says quickly. “Thank you.” 

“No problem.” 

“Bye,” Jessica says loudly, and follows Karen back into the elevator. “He’s a piece of work,” she says when the doors are closed. “Jesus. He’s got a crazy way with words, though. Garbage Barbie is gonna be my new username on everything.” 

Karen doesn’t answer, and Jessica’s never been one to object to an awkward long silence but today she fills it. “He deserved all of that, I’m sure,” she says. 

"I wasn't trying to hurt him," Karen says. 

"Yeah? Maybe you should've been," Jessica says. When the elevator doors ping open, she leads Karen back out onto the street. "How do you feel about churros?" she asks, and stops in front of a cart selling them. 

"Go ahead." 

"No, you. Do you want one? Or five?" Jessica almost smiles. "Two." 

"I don't need two churros," Karen snaps. 

Jessica's smile grows into a real one. "Yes you do. Hi, can I get four churros?" 

Karen is annoyed for all of ten seconds, which is when she takes her first bite. Then she decides that she did need this churro, and the second one Jessica is holding for her. They eat on the walk to the subway, they're finished by the time they're standing on the platform, and Karen isn't too big to admit she was wrong. 

"So maybe I did need two churros," she says. 

"You definitely did." Jessica has her hands in her pockets. “So he’s Matt’s competition,” she says. 

“No,” Karen says, for what feels like the millionth time even if it’s just the first. “Matt thinks that’s what he is, though. Though he’s met him exactly twice.” 

“Gross. Ditch him. He’s dumb.” 

Karen can’t agree to that, but she can’t disagree with it either so she doesn’t say anything. Their train gets there, and and they push onto it with everybody else. And once they’re on it, Jessica jams her elbows into people and gets them in a spot leaning against the wall. And she protects Karen again, holding on to the bar and sagging into one thin strip of a person who doesn’t let anyone else near. 

“He’s a dick, though,” Jessica says right before their stop. 

“I know.” 

“You don’t have to care about him.” 

Karen kind of grits her teeth. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Alright,” Jessica says. And she doesn’t say anything else on the trip home. It’s kinda nice. 

Trish is there when they get back, popping popcorn in a pot on the stove. “Hey,” she says, looking surprised. “What have you two been up to?” 

“Wasting time on idiots,” Jessica says, and Karen can’t argue with that either. 

“Okay… are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Karen answers. “I’m feeling better.” 

 

 

Karen doesn’t know what she hears, just that she heard something, and she’s scrambling for the bedside table. “Karen, it’s me,” Trish says outside the door, and Karen stops trying to load the gun. 

“Hey,” she says. “Come in.” Trish opens the door, and the look on her face has Karen’s heart miss a beat. “What’s wrong?” Karen asks. 

“There was an explosion downtown.” Trish has tears in her voice. “And Jessica isn’t answering her phone.” 

“Matt?” Karen asks, her heart clenching. 

“No. Luke, either. And the kid.” 

“Danny,” Karen says, getting out of bed and putting pants on. “Where was the explosion?” 

“Stark Tower.” 

Only a few blocks away. “What’s the closest hospital?” 

“Injured will be taken to City Hospital,” Trish says. Karen turns on the bedside light, and sees Trish is dressed too. “We can walk.” 

It’s six blocks of chaos. Smoke hangs in the air, acrid on her tongue when she breathes, and more people are on the streets than usual, milling about aimlessly. Karen and Trish walk through them without slowing down.

City Hospital is packed; the lobby of the ER is full of people covered in dust and blood. Karen scans faces and the backs of heads, trying to find the one she’s looking for. She sees Jessica first, hears Trish gasp and follows her gaze. And before they’ve taken one step towards them, the man standing in front of Jessica turns, and the indistinct head of brown hair is now Matt. Bleeding, holding an ice pack to his head, smiling over at the guy next to him, who she doesn’t recognize.

Karen’s running before she’s aware her legs are moving, in Matt’s arms before he should be able to hear her coming. Except he’s himself, so he hears her coming and he has his arms around her tight. “Matt,” she says into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” he says back, the rumble in his chest as comforting as ever. “I’m okay.”

“There's a lot of blood for okay,” Karen says. She can feel it on her temple, smell it soaking into her hair. 

“I know, but I am.” He’s holding her pretty firmly, for someone who might not be alright, so Karen has to concede that he might be okay after all. “There was a fight, nothing too bad.” 

“An explosion,” Karen points out. 

“We weren't near that.” 

“Cuz I pulled you away, idiot,” Jessica says. Karen finally separates from Matt to see Trish smothering Jessica in a hug of her own. “I’m glad nobody’s overreacting,” Jessica adds flatly, but she’s hugging back. 

“Where’s Luke?” Karen asks. 

“Home with Claire,” Jessica says. “He was near the center of the blast without a scratch on him. Had to be out of here. Our red friend here is waiting to be checked out for concussion damage.” 

Matt shrugs. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’ve had a concussion. This isn’t one. But I’m waiting, so Danny doesn’t lose his mind.” 

“Where’s he?” 

“Broken hand, major cut on his arm he needs stitched up,” Jessica says. “Since when did I become the team’s PR agent?” 

Trish looks at Jessica’s leg. “Is it broken?” she asks. 

“Maybe,” Jessica says. “Hurts to walk. We’re waiting to see.”

Matt loses his balance for a moment, gets his balance again. “Frank’s here too,” he says. “Said he was a bystander, so. He’s safe.” 

“Frank,” Karen repeats. “Anyone else?”

Trish looks up at her sharply. Matt doesn’t know. “No, I don’t think so,” he says. “Anyone like who?” But Karen doesn’t know how to answer, so she doesn’t say anything. 

She sees Billy when she doesn’t mean to. Someone asks where Danny is, and she looks over towards the door, but instead of the young twerp with a glowing hand, she looks straight in Billy’s eyes. He’s bleeding from dozens of cuts on his face, from flying rubble or something, and there’s worry written all over his face. 

He pushes over to her, and after a moment of hesitation he hugs her. Just gently at first, but when she holds him back his grip tightens. “You’re okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine, I’m here to make sure these guys are okay,” Karen says. “Were you by the blast?” 

“Yeah,” Billy says. He lets go of her, puts his hands in his pockets. He’s standing awkwardly outside of the circle, half behind Matt. “I’m fine,” he says. “Frank?” 

“Matt says he’s here. Okay, I think.” 

Billy examines her, with the same inscrutable eyes as before. With distance from him, she finds it almost charming again. And it’s something he can’t help, maybe. She tries to tell herself both those things, and doesn’t exactly succeed in believing it. “I’ve…” he begins, pauses. “I’ve been thinking.” 

“Okay.” 

He seems to lose his nerve in the following moments, and stuffs his hands in his pockets self-consciously. “We should talk,” he says faintly, and she’s about to answer with whatever the first thing she can think of is when they’re interrupted. 

The ER is busy, there’s a lot of commotion. What catches her attention is Frank’s voice, a deep kind of bellow, and how close it is. And then Frank stumbles into the lobby, blood dripping from his face and tubes hanging from his arms, and he yells, “This is a trap, everybody needs to get out.”

“Please calm down,” a nurse says frantically, but it’s too late. Panic is setting in, and people are heading for the doors. 

“A trap,” Trish repeats. 

“A smart one, if their targets were the ones injured in the blast,” Billy says. “Flood the emergency room and take them all out.” 

“Can you stand up?” Trish asks Jessica, and time slows. Karen sees several things in quick succession - Matt turning to look at Billy, Frank breaking free from the nurses and running towards her, in long steps that take an eternity each. Something hits her shoulder. And then the room goes silent, and grey. 

There’s a ringing in her ears. That’s the first sensation that comes back, a ringing and a suffocating weight. She moves her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Her lips taste like metal and dust. Her lungs rasp, but the weight on her chest gives way with no resistance. 

Her hearing comes back slowly. She can make out an argument, and recognizes the voices before she can distinguish words. It’s Jessica, and Frank. 

“I’m not saying I couldn’t hold up the ceiling, I’m saying I didn’t have the time,” are the first words Karen can make out. Jessica sounds odd. Cheerful. “The real question is how long does it take to announce a trap, dude? You were too late.” 

“Shut up. Did what I could.”

“Karen’s awake,” Matt says. But if he can hear her, why isn’t he over here, near her. “Who can walk?” 

She feels a small hand on her forehead. Not Matt or Frank or Billy. “Hey hon, can you move?” It’s Trish. Karen loves her. 

It takes a while to figure out how to talk. “Yeah,” Karen finally says. Her voice is barely understandable. “What… what happened?” 

“Bomb,” Frank says from wherever he is. “Taking out medical staff and those close enough to be injured in the blast. Us.” 

“Who would even do that?” Trish says. 

Karen manages to open her eyes then, and sees a bland, white ceiling. “Where’s… everyone?” she asks. 

“Here,” Trish says. “They crammed all of us in here.” 

“Who?” 

“Jessica, Frank, Matt, Billy, Danny. Can you sit up? Can you moveyour feet?” 

Karen obediently kicks out with one foot, then her other. Then she sits up with a lot of help from Trish. Billy’s across the room, so is Matt and Danny, who’s sitting up in bed looking pale. Jessica is next to Karen, with Frank on the far side of her. And the room isn’t that big. The hospital situation must be bad. 

“Is… are we all okay?” she asks. 

“We’re all alive, at least,” Danny speaks up weakly. 

“Give or take a few pints of blood,” Jessica says without opening her eyes. And then she groans. “Ouch.”

“You’re fine,” Frank says. “What I wouldn’t give for a healing factor.” 

“You can fucking have it,” Jessica says, and flings her arm over her eyes. “Ouch.” 

“Wait,” Karen says blearily, and looks around at the room full of people she adores. “Frank knows about Jessica?” 

“He knows about all of us,” Matt says. “He was helping us when shit went sideways. And Billy’s unconscious.” 

“Is he okay?” 

“He’ll be fine,” Frank says. “Kid’s tough. Covered you.” 

She doesn’t know how she feels hearing that. “Okay,” she says. “What about when he wakes up?” 

Matt doesn’t respond. Jessica doesn’t seem too interested, and Karen knows where Frank stands. Trish speaks up. “If he knows the identity of four people with abilities, that’s something he could try to leverage. For money, power. People might give him a lot for that.”

Karen looks at Frank. Frank shuts his eyes, which means he doesn’t think he can stand up for Billy. And Karen doesn’t want to. How many times has she scoffed at the girl standing up for a some bullshit guy, convinced she’s the one who could change him, or be the one he’d change himself for. And she knows she can’t be that. She doesn’t want to be. But. 

Trish is watching her. “You want to tell him,” she says. “Why. Come on, you’re not stupid.” 

“Sure as hell aren’t,” Frank agrees gruffly.

“No,” Karen agrees. “But.” 

Matt sighs, and Danny shrugs. “Look,” Danny says. “I don’t mind. If he tries to extort us, we can just take him out.” 

Frank lets out a painful laugh, and the room kind of agrees. “I won’t do it, but. He’s got a point,” Matt says.

“And we could use an eloquent male model on the team,” Jessica says. 

Danny frowns. “I thought that was my job,” he says. 

“No, you’re our deep pockets. And the kid brother we never asked for. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. But I’m not team mom.” 

“Neither am I,” Trish frowns. “Karen definitely isn’t.” 

“Is this the most important thing to discuss?” Matt asks, sounding strained. “Are we telling this guy or not.” 

“Your call, Karen,” Frank says. 

She doesn’t want it to be her call. Somehow, she always knew it would be. Nobody else stands up for him. “Tell us when he wakes up, Matt?” 

“Sure thing,” Matt says. His leg is in a cast, she finally realizes. And Danny’s arm is covered in a blood-soaked bandage, and Frank’s as half-dead as she’s ever seen him. And Jessica’s okay, but she comes back together faster than most people. 

Trish doesn’t have a scratch on her. “You’re okay?” Karen asks her. 

“Jessica covered me,” Trish says, almost embarrassed. 

Jessica loves Trish more than she loves herself. Karen feels it like sunlight, beating into her skin. 

And Billy covered Karen. She can be mad all she wants, but it still counts for something. The routines he used to tie her to him, that didn’t make them any less expressions of care, too. And for all she wanted to believe otherwise, when she was furious with him, she doesn’t truly think he’s as cold as he wishes he was. She just doesn’t know why it should be her, making these calls. Why no one else has stepped up to take care of him, why it’s left to her. 

Claire shows up. She was fired from her job, but all hands are on deck now and it’s not the time to hold a grudge. She checks out everybody in the room, assures everyone that everyone else will survive, then takes Jessica and Trish with her to care for the rest of the unfortunate. 

It feels a little bit like being alone. Danny’s focusing his chi, apparently, to heal faster, and Matt’s in one of his reveries. Frank’s awake and silent, breathing evenly, but Karen’s too comfortable with him to be put off by that. She sits where she is and thinks. 

“He’s up,” Matt finally says, and Billy sits straight up in bed. He pulls his hands up - checking for cuffs, she thinks - and then looks around the room at the rest of them. 

“A bomb,” he says first.

“Yep,” Frank answers. 

She gets to her feet - slowly, with a pause to catch her breath. Claire said she probably cracked a rib, and has a mild concussion. She hopes that explains the ringing in her ears. 

"You good?" Billy asks. "I can help." 

"No," Karen tells him. "I'm okay." She is. She's okay. Her legs are holding up, so she walks over to Billy's bed and sits on the foot of it, facing him. Matt is to her left, glasses on the bedside table. Danny is to her right, his chest glowing faintly, apparently from the meditation. And Karen sits there. 

There’s blood crusted on the unscarred side of his face, and there are more cuts and scrapes on his face. He winces as he moves, moves one hand to prod at the opposite shoulder. "Did I break anything?" he asks of generally the room. 

"No, I don't think so. Claire says you'll be fine." 

He looks slightly down and then back up at her, as if he can't believe that she's there on the foot of his bed. "Your friends?" he says. 

"They're all okay. Jessica and Trish are with Claire, nobody's... dead." A lot of people are dead, actually, but none of the people she loves. 

"That's remarkably convenient," Billy observes. 

"Very meta of you," Matt mumbles. Karen gives him a look, which of course he doesn't catch. 

"Well. It's..." This is the moment. She has to decide now, if she's telling him or not. And the only thing she can think of is that she told him she'd never endanger her friends and she meant it. "I need something," she says slowly.

"Okay." 

"I need something back. Before I say anything. Because..." She can't even tell him why. "You need to trust me," she says. "For this to work. Can you?" 

He doesn't agree right away. He looks away. The silence stretches longer than Karen would want it to. "I do," he finally says. 

"I need leverage on you," she says. And god help them all, he gives it to her. 

It's as easy as emailing her a Google Doc. She watches him do it. “Grabbed the Cerberus records. Now you have them too,” he says, by way of explanation. "Okay? Is that enough?" 

Her phone survived the wreckage in her pocket, screen cracked but usable. She downloads the document, saves it to her drive separately so he can't change his mind, and he watches her with a trace of a smile. Karen looks up then, at him, and says, "They're superheroes."

"Who?"

"My friends. Not Trish, or Claire. But." 

He looks at Matt, at Danny. "Yoga boy has super powers?" he says dryly. 

"I was as shocked as you were," Karen answers solemnly. 

"Does he have a name?" 

"The immortal Iron Fist," Danny says without opening his eyes. 

"I thought you were meditating," Karen says. 

"I'm having trouble focusing." 

Matt snorts. "Couldn't resist the chance to announce himself to someone new." 

"He asked!" Danny protests, and then realizes he's being teased and relaxes a little. "Besides, I was waiting to see how this went.” 

“Me?” Billy asks. 

“Yeah,” Danny says. “We’re on the same team now. The Defenders. And Matt can’t walk, so somebody’s gotta defend her.” 

“I can walk,” Matt snaps. 

“Hold on.” Frank sits up on his elbows. “You think I’d let Bill near her if he’d hurt her?” 

“Why does everyone think I’d hurt her?” Billy demands of the room. 

“Because you’re a murderer,” Matt says with thinly-veiled hostility. 

“And you’re a blind superhero, apparently?” 

“Yeah, I am.” 

Karen watches them argue. It’s not her job to moderate their asshole posturing. Eventually Frank cuts in. “Hey. Get your heads outta your asses. You’re on the same team. Shape up.” 

They do, marginally. Matt falls asleep, Danny meditates. Billy just sits, with Karen on the foot of his bed, and pretends he isn’t watching her. “So we’re okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Karen says. 

“You can… we can talk, if you want that.” Doesn't sound convincing. She frowns, and he answers with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?” 

“No,” she says honestly. “Should I?” 

 

 

 

 

They meet in Central Park, by the merry-go-round that still haunts him. She finds him staring at it from the lawn, sunglasses on. "Frank's family always called it the ponies," he says without prompting. 

"I thought you didn't talk about Frank's family," she says back, crossing her arms. 

"Well, I'm trying to do things a little different now." He rolls his shoulders, the one pops, and Karen’s face must do something because he frowns. “What?” 

“Nothing, I just. I’m… I missed you,” she says after a moment, and he smiles at her. 

“We should sit down,” he says. 

They relocate to a bench, Billy’s arm along the back of it, behind Karen. She’s inclined to put her head down on his shoulder, but doesn’t. “How is he?” she asks. 

“Coping. I’m sure you know he works with Matt now, sometimes.” 

“Yeah,” she nods. “I heard. Good for both of them.” 

He agrees silently. She’s gotten a little better at interpreting his silences. He’s let her be. “So,” he says, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. 

“So?” 

“Well, you didn’t come here for my stunning conversation.” 

“You don’t know that,” she says to make him smile. 

“Call it a hunch.” He clears his throat, and his expression turns solemn again. “I’ve been to three appointments.” 

“How’s that going?” 

“Good. I think. I don’t know, my frame of reference is limited,” he says dryly, and she laughs. “But he hasn’t melted my brain, and I’ve… spoken. To him.” 

Karen looks over at him, meeting his eyes, and she grins. “That’s pretty good. How does it feel?” 

He shrugs. “Well, he’ll see it all anyways, so. Doesn’t exactly matter what I tell him or not. And that’s… not bad.” He keeps hesitating through sentences, and Karen feels something akin to pride. She’s proud of him. “And I don’t think you were wrong,” he adds. “I do think you’re gonna give up on me. I don’t know why you haven’t.” 

“Did the professor have any input?” 

“Sure. Sure, he said I have attachment issues. Love that. Hard to tell the guy who can read my mind he’s wrong,” Billy says tensely. “But.” 

“Yeah?” 

“He knows most of everything, and he still thinks I’m worth talking to. It’s not like I’m paying him. So.” He shrugs, looks away. “Not all bad, y’know. Better than I thought.” 

“Good. I’m glad. I hope…” 

“What,” he says when she doesn’t speak. “You hope what, that I become an easier person to be around? Me too.” 

“No,” she says. “That you find some peace, finally. You deserve it.” 

“I deserve a lot of things,” he says darkly, and she sighs at him. 

“Alright. Leave your self hatred for the shrink.” 

He laughs, actually. And he hugs her close against his side. “What have you been doing?” 

“Sleeping a lot. Finishing some stories for once, earning my keep.” 

“Talking to Matt?” 

“Not much. Foggy and I can keep alright tabs on him. And he’ll respond in the group text. But him and Electra, they’re kind of doing their own thing. I don’t know.” 

Billy nods, and then he does something truly unusual. “How does that feel?” he asks stiffly, unaccustomed to thinking or asking the question. 

“Not great,” Karen answers stiffly, and he understands that. He keeps his arm heavy over her shoulder, letting his presence comfort, and he doesn’t try to push. “It’s fine,” she adds eventually. “He doesn’t define me. I’m fine. I just… I miss him too.” 

“Ouch,” he says. 

She raises her eyebrows. “Ouch?” 

“Yeah, I don’t want to be like him. I see what he’s done to you.” 

“Not a fan of that phrasing.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, oh,” she responds sharply, and turns sideways on the bench to look at him. “I’m not a thing he’s done things to. Or you, either. Or Frank.” 

Billy looks at her back, he blinks twice and then says, “Yeah, okay. I can see that. I just meant… I want to be better than that,” he says. Like that’s an ordinary thing to say. 

“Wanting isn’t doing,” she says. 

“I know.” 

“You still… you did shitty things to me too.” 

“I know,” he says again. “I know I did. And I’m sorry.” 

That’s a first. Fuck. Karen lets her defenses down then, and she leans over to properly hug him. Both arms. “I have higher standards, now,” she says. 

“You deserve them,” he answers simply. “Is Trish doing good, then?” 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Yeah, she’s good, her show’s ratings are picking back up. She’s making real progress on the story she’s working on too.” 

“Her mom coming around anymore?”

“No, thankfully. I think Jessica scared her off.” When he doesn’t say anything, she looks at him. He’s staring at that carousel, his gaze distant. “We didn’t have to meet here, y’know. You don’t have to torture yourself.” 

He shrugs. “Someone has to.” 

“Alright, come on.” Karen stands up, tugs him up too. 

“Where am I coming?” 

“With me, back home. We’re having a movie night, and you’re invited.” 

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You aren’t, I invited you.” 

“Well.” He comes a few more steps. 

“If you behave yourself, we could make it a regular thing,” she suggests. 

That gets him to come. Routines are hard to come by these days, and she thinks they could both use a couple more. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love Matt and I even love Karen/Matt but the way the show treats her is bullshit. Also this fic sprung out of me wondering if Frank would really kill Billy, theorizing he might not, and then realizing how incredibly shitty it would be to be anywhere near them afterwards. So I just had to twist that knife. 
> 
> Also I adore Jessica Jones. A loosely connected sequel might happen. Stay tuned.


End file.
